An open letter to Esther Barazzone

“I’m really glad my alma mater has gone out of its way to disenfranchise me as a graduate” … said no Chatham alumna, ever. 

 ***

Dr. Barazzone, I don’t know what part of this piece I liked better, the part where you were labeled “tough and mercurial” or the part where former employees described Chatham as a “difficult workplace.” 

Or the fact that the sheer numbers did much of the talking in today’s Tribune-Review article, which testified to what much of the community has known. 

Since 2003, Chatham has had five directors/vice presidents for international affairs.

Its graduate school has had five deans since 2008, including a dean named in a reorganization this month. Its college for continuing and graduate education has had six deans since 2005.

Four people have been vice president for enrollment/admissions since 2008. Five people have been vice president for advancement since 2010, including one named this month.

“That amount of turnover in senior leadership would indicate that there is something going on, something not good,” said Donald Heller, dean of the College of Education at Michigan State University, who described Chatham’s turnover rates as “incredibly unusual.”

Because this is what the alumnae have known for the last five years. We’re convinced that the college’s demise was by design and not by default.

 

The fact that you and the trustees shirked the opportunity to comment speaks volumes about the state of the school.

Meanwhile, the woman who should be running the school – also an alumnae – was quoted at length in the story. 

Did you know that outgoing Michigan president Mary Sue Coleman gave her yearly raises BACK to the University of Michigan? Imagine that – a college administrator doing something for the good of the institution. 

Sadly, that is no longer the perception of your reign at Chatham. To paraphrase what my classmate, Sarah Barr, posted on the Facebook page of one of the alumnae groups … it’s clear that Chatham doesn’t care about its students. It doesn’t care about the college that lasted for nearly 150 years until greed and ego got into the way.

Has customer service become optional?

Seeing the screen of my BlackBerry cracked became the impetus for my search for a new smartphone. And took me to the Verizon Wireless store in Maumee, Ohio. When my husband and I walked in, we were greeted by two male sales associates and I explained what I was looking for – a BlackBerry Q10 with a comparable mobile/data/text plan.

Yet when I said “BlackBerry,” I got a few guffaws from the sales associates. Then I responded rather loudly:

“Are you judging me for using a BlackBerry? Really?”

Awkward pause from the two men who were helping me. Then one said he’d go back and check if there was a BlackBerry Q10 in stock. The other tried to convince me to go with a touchscreen phone and I stuck to my first preference. I wanted a damn BlackBerry.

I left without a new phone – which, in retrospect was a good thing. Because it got me more motivated to call out this store and its disrespectful employees. I don’t ridicule you for working at a Verizon store, so don’t ridicule me if I still prefer the brand of a dying mobile device company.

I got home and went online to order a new BlackBerry. But the more I thought about it, I was mad that a store would turn away money! So I sent a tweet to Verizon Wireless. And a few more before I got a response.

https://twitter.com/VZWSupport/status/478616482151006209

Then, as I was asking a customer service rep online about changes to my plan – I can no longer get unlimited data, but can get unlimited voice minutes and unlimited text messaging, and this disappoints me but I’ll deal with it – I told her about my awful experience at the Verizon store in Maumee. I asked her if there was any way I could email customer service.

There’s no way to email Verizon Wireless, and when I made a phone call, I was put on hold for 25 minutes before I hung up. (Gee, Verizon Wireless, what is going on with your company’s interpersonal skills?)

Anyhow.

I ordered my new phone. But in light of today’s exchange in the store of a company I’ve given my money to since October of 2001, I’m starting to believe this.

If this is how customer service is going to be handled in face-to-face situations, then I’m going to keep buying online. Can I at least get my upgrade fee waived for having to deal with this face-to-face foolishness?

Unleash your inner Gloria

Kate Upton unleashed her inner Gloria Steinem last night … and I sort of love it.

For a woman who has been so objectified – even though I kind of believe she’s in on the joke herself, and that’s a good thing, because to me that shows empowerment and ownership, combined with some self-deprecation – she took a stand.

My friend Tina (see the selfie post) immediately wrote back to me and said, I’m with Kate. And I agreed! Although my tweet didn’t necessarily convey it – and what great messages are sent in less than 140 characters?

As I told Tina, if one of us doesn’t say something, then who will?

Feminism is in a weird place right now – not necessarily where it was 25 years ago, when the mainstream media begged the question, “Is feminism dead?”

Women are asking for equal pay for equal work, and Ohio has become a battleground for reproductive rights. Hillary – a patron saint of women’s college graduates, along with Gloria – is our best bet for the 2016 presidential democratic ticket.

Meanwhile, more young girls are worried about taking the best selfie and can probably name more of the Kardashian sisters than they can the women in Congress or female CEOs.  I attribute this in part to the values that each generation of parents instills in their children – my peers and I are part of a generation that included immigration, the Civil Rights act, the second wave of feminism (my mom was required to wear skirts and pantyhose to work every day as a teacher in the 1970s – now, come on!), Vietnam and Watergate.

People 10-15 years younger than me were the children of Reaganism, yuppiedom, the Iran-Contra hearings, Princess Diana and Miami Vice. And because it seems as if values skip a generation – will we be impressing the values our parents taught us upon our children? –  it makes me wonder what has happened to feminism. Is it in a state of ambiguity? Is it slowly being revived or is it slowly being eviscerated?

Is it necessary for us to still stand our ground? Absolutely.

I’m currently reading “Girls To The Front,” about how the female punk scene in the early 1990s brought out a sect of feminism and empowerment, and allowed girls and young women to have a “safe space.” And I wonder, is there still a safe space for women, without being objectified, marginalized and even ridiculed? Heck, just look at the replies to Kate Upton’s post about the Los Angeles Country Club.

The death of Chatham College for Women really made me think a lot. Esther Barazzone, the school’s president, insisted that we’re reaching “gender equity” but why has Title IX and sexual harassment in colleges and universities become an issue this year? Why is President Obama championing equal pay for equal work? Why are we still being laughed at when we try to create and perpetuate #YesAllWomen, a movement that brings to light the issues that women still face?

With women’s establishments being knocked down and eradicated, we’re not building armies with each other, we’re now being forced to fight against something bigger than all of us. And I worry that instead of us banding together, we’re facing off against each other. And what does that accomplish?

So I really hope Kate Upton’s statement creates a backlash of sorts, or at least inspires people to think, hey, let’s stand up for something. Even if it’s the ham-handed creep at work who ridicules you for having a conversation about the treatment of women, or the commercial that hawks beer by using big-breasted, voiceless women in bikinis.

Kate, I’m with you. Please, continue being a voice. And I’m sorry if my tweet came off as flippant. But those Kardashian girls need to step up their game, like, last week.

Looking back at a single-sex education

At the NCAA men’s basketball tournament last weekend in Milwaukee, I was one of five women on press row at the NCAA regional. I was one of two women in the press conferences who asked questions. I was the only women in most of the media huddles in the locker rooms.

I attribute that to going to a women’s college.

Now I’m not saying that every aspiring sports reporter should go to a women’s college. You have to find what school best fits your needs, personally, academically and emotionally.

But I definitely believe going to a women’s college gave me an edge. Some of the things you learn from single-sex education: You learn the importance of speaking up in a class without wondering who’s going to question it. You learn leadership skills, whether you’re in charge of a lab group or serving as a teaching assistant. You learn how to confront people and how to respectfully do so. You learn the importance of time management.

You build a certain sense of confidence from the experience.

Attending a women’s college is also about learning how to survive – it’s not an environment for everybody. I had classmates who left because they weren’t satisfied with academic offerings. Others realized they only wanted to go to college to find a husband. Some left because they didn’t pay their bills (actually, they were asked to leave). Others flunked out.

But when you go out into the world and meet a graduate from another single-sex institution – whether it’s an all men’s school such as Morehouse or Hampden-Sydney, or one of the Seven Sisters, or even a student who went to a single-sex high school – there is a certain kinship. You understand what each other did to succeed and to make it through four years, and what you take into the world because of it.

Sadly, this may end at my alma mater.

My college wants to go co-ed, and its administrators have done little to nothing as far as actions go to consider an alternate course of action in order to preserve the mission of the school without killing its current integrity. Sadly, I don’t believe there is much integrity left at the school, even under a president who has been there for more than 20 years, who brought the school out of a similar crisis, who spearheaded a boost in alumnae involvement and giving, who helped raise the profile of the school and who became a mover-and-shaker of sorts in Pittsburgh.

Now, it appears that her legacy is what she believes will “save” the school again. It begs the questions: how did your administration allow the college to get to this point? How did the school decay in the last five years?

As my fellow alumnae and I have done everything in our power to make the administration attempt to understand what they are doing, I am helping spread the word to other women’s college graduates. We are, after all, a certain breed. There are less than 50 women’s colleges left in the United States. Yet at the same time, I see strong schools such as Barnard, Hollins, Bryn Mawr and Spelman and their alumnae. And I’m jealous of these women, who can continue a legacy of an education and an institution that empowered them and supported them, and helped them learn how to survive and thrive in the “real world.”

I’m embarrassed by the fact that I may have to tell them, “well, I went to a women’s college, but it’s about to go co-ed.” In fact, I’m mortified! If this happens, then I only hope I can gain their sympathy.

***

A letter I wrote to the school:

I am following the college’s communication efforts, the media’s coverage and the feedback I receive from fellow classmates and graduates, of Chatham’s plan to evaluate co-education for its undergraduate program.
One thing has stood out: What has not been in this process is for the administration and the trustees to publicly take into consideration an attempt to negotiate a plan in which the university can continue its original mission of educating women.
Over the past six years, the culture of Chatham College for Women has decayed. Faculty and staff have left in droves. Morale on the Shady Side campus is low. Alumnae engagement is non-existent. The undergraduate student population has plummeted. Look around you at the condition of the Eddy Theatre.
This is a reflection of the administration, which has allowed Chatham to fall into this state.
In regards to plummeting numbers: Are admissions representatives seeing the world? Are they leaving the tri-state area? There are thousands of women across the country who would be thrilled to represent Chatham at a college fair or to present a Rachel Carson Book Award – at the cost of nothing other than postage and long-distance charges.
What is the college doing to expose itself to potential students? Does the athletic center host tournaments for youth basketball and volleyball? Does the university rent the chapel for weddings or christenings? Does the university host corporate events at Mellon Hall or in the Jennie King Mellon Library?
Is alumni relations reaching out to alumnae for more than just money? Are alumnae being asked to speak to classes? Are they being asked to host regional events? Are they being encouraged to contact students who are preparing to enter the work force or preparing to enter college? This is engagement.
These are things that Chatham did when I was a student from 1994 to 1998. When my peers such as Amanda Nedley, Becky Alperin, Olivia Davis, Najaa Young, Jenifer Harris, Angela Matrozza, Christy Dennison and Sarah Barr were at Chatham. These are things I hoped would continue.
We need to consider Chatham’s mission: Educating and empowering women like ourselves.
Going co-ed isn’t what’s going to save the undergraduate program. You don’t throw out the baby with the bathwater.
What will save our school is forming a new identity and aligning with it, while adhering to our original mission.
As Sheila Otto, Class of 1957, told me last week: “We can do one of two things. We can either create a new vision for ourselves, which we can fulfill … or we can decay.”
That, to me, is evolution. Chatham needs to visualize its evolution and form a plan to fulfill it.

How I learned to stop worrying and love the selfie

My friend Tina and I went to a diner in Chicago the other day and before we left, she insisted, “come on, let’s take a selfie!”

Now I am no fan of my own photos. I am not a photogenic person, and haven’t been since about 1997. In fact, for years I used a bad photo of myself as my column mug so that when people I interviewed met me, they’d think/say, “Wow, you’re really cute!”

It was a self-esteem thing.

But who was I to break my friend’s heart? So I obliged. The first photo didn’t turn out fantastic, so I told her to tilt her iPhone up a bit. (a trick I learned from watching “Shahs of Sunset” on Bravo TV.)

*click*

Strangely, Tina’s photo of us empowered me. Tina looks fantastic, as always. I didn’t look horrible without makeup. My hair wasn’t scraggly. It actually looks like we were having a lot of fun – and we were!

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So I continued taking more selfies during my trip to Milwaukee. Three, actually.

The Bradley Center, where the NBA’s Milwaukee Bucks play, have a selfie booth on the concourse.

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This afternoon on the Milwaukee River, I got creative. My first effort didn’t turn out so well. I sent it to my husband for laughs.

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So I took the advice I gave Tina and held my BlackBerry up a little higher and at an angle. You can see its reflection on my sunglasses!

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” … in the neighborhood …”

Real talk: I’m a Muppets girl.

But I saw a post on the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette’s blog this morning that got me very excited for the youngsters in our nation whose parents force-feed them PBS programming.

“Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood” has been reincarnated, and it has been renewed. For a second season.

Daniel Tiger is carrying on the legacy of trolley-riding, sweater-wearing and loving thy neighbor.

You might remember Daniel Tiger’s father, Daniel Striped Tiger, as this furry creature, who lived in a grandfather clock and had to learn how to come of his proverbial shell. But Daniel Striped Tiger also had some common sense – he wore a watch, because “when you live in a clock you really should know what time it is.”

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Cred.

Daniel Striped Tiger is now married and has children, and I imagine he is a gym teacher at Allderdice High School and his wife is a nurse at UPMC, and their family lives in a sweet bungalow in Squirrel Hill, just a few blocks from Chatham College and a few steps from a PAT bus stop, also a quick walk to Eat N Park on Murray Avenue.

His son, Daniel Tiger, is carrying on the legacy that Fred Rogers left his dad. 

***

Even though I am a professed Muppets girl,  I had one brush with Mr. Rogers himself when I went to college in Pittsburgh. As an intern at Pittsburgh Magazine, I worked in a large office space in the same building as the studio for “Mister Rogers’  Neighborhood” – a Pittsburgh institution. Each day my fellow interns and I walked to the tiny lunchroom, only a few yards away from Mr. Rogers’ studio. Some days we got daring and walked into Mr. Rogers’ kitchen with the industrial-grade stoplight, or we admired the tree that was the home of X the Owl.

tree04

But we never saw Mr. Rogers.

One afternoon I left work and walked towards the University of Pittsburgh to catch my shuttle. As I went to cross the entrance of a parking lot, I noticed a Ford sedan pull up and I stopped before crossing the street.

I learned that on Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.

Who was driving the car that stopped? Mister Rogers.

I made eye contact with him and he tilted his head, then smiled and waved as if to say, “Hello neighbor!”

I waved back before Mister Rogers left. It was the coolest moment of my junior year of college.

daniel

Daniel Tiger. Trolley. Sweater. Sneakers.
Cred.

Why I love the Winter Games

I didn’t have to wait for NBC to air its tape-delayed coverage of the 2014 opening ceremonies of the Winter Olympics in Russia. The beauty of CBC (and a local cable company’s dispute with a national network provider) allowed me to watch in real time the athlete procession, the light shows, the omitted/non-broadcasted portion about the fall of Communism …

But not the Russian police choir singing “Get Lucky.”

Anyhow.

Per CNN.com, there are more than 2,850 athletes from 88 countries participating in this year’s Games, and this – http://www.sochi2014.com/en/teams – is a really cool interactive graphic that illustrates each country that will be represented in Sochi.

But this is my favorite part of the opening ceremonies.

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Bermuda.

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Kyrgyzstan. One athlete from Kyrgyzstan.

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Jamaica

Even Iran has team of five athletes – including two female skiers who wear the hijab, the traditional Muslim headscarf.

To me, this is the Olympics. Not the hundreds of athletes who represent the slam-dunk medal countries such as the Russia, Norway and the United States (and don’t get me wrong, I love my country), but the men and women who are the tiny contingent that represent a country we might not be able to immediately locate on a globe, and countries you might not think have an interest in winter sports.

It’s the non-traditional countries and the countries who send only a handful of athletes – Chile, Peru, Dominica, Tonga …

Funny story about this guy from Tonga: he’s part of a German underwear marketing scheme.

Even the independent Olympians – athletes from India who cannot compete under the Indian flag because the IOC would not allow an Indian delegation to Sochi. The IOC suspended the Indian Olympic Association for electing officials who were facing charges of corruption.

It’s supposed to be global and, yes, in a sense, political. But also inclusive. For some athletes, this is the pinnacle of their sport. This is their chance to represent their country on a universal scale.

Having dreams is what makes life tolerable.

This week began as a blank slate. Literally. I had nothing to work on, nothing to write about and a project I’ve started has unexpectedly stalled. So I started sifting for story ideas, and somehow, something made me think of Bracken Kearns.

Kearns played hockey in Toledo for only one season, his first professional season in 2005-2006. He didn’t make it to the NHL until the fall of 2011 – when he was 30 years old. His was a story of perseverance and setting goals and staying a certain course – even if that course went through six seasons, two minor leagues and seven different teams.

Something prompted me to call the San Jose Sharks media relations department Monday afternoon to put in a request to speak to Kearns. It was something I’d thought of during the spring, if the Sharks happened to meet the Red Wings in the Western Conference Finals, but that didn’t happen.

Within a day, the Sharks media relations office put me in touch with Kearns. And the first thing I told him? “You’ve got a great story of dedication and perseverance, and people in Toledo want to know how you’re doing in the NHL.”

***

I have a bit of a personal stake in writing about Bracken Kearns, as well – and I didn’t really mention this to anybody as I was pursuing this article.

I got laid off from my job at the Portland Press Herald on Oct. 13, 2011, and I was really, really down – I’d just lost what I thought was the best job ever, covering college and pro hockey and making a good living doing so. Someone else decided that all the work I did and the investment I made in 13 years in journalism didn’t matter anymore. And it felt like after I got laid off, that it didn’t matter that I still had goals I wanted to reach and dreams I wanted to fulfill as a reporter.

I was down. Really down.

A week later, I read about Kearns *finally* being called up to the NHL with the Florida Panthers – it was such an inspiration! His pursuit sent a message to me – to never give up on something you love to do – and it reminded me of one of my favorite movie quotes:

“Having dreams is what makes life tolerable.”

“… the Pennsylvania we never found …”

It was a dreary day in Toledo today, 12 degrees and a light snow coming down as I made the drive home. As I turned onto Michigan Avenue, the Billy Joel CD my husband bought me for Christmas (along with Billy Joel concert tickets) flipped to “Allentown.”

It was one of my favorite songs growing up, probably because it was one of the first music videos that MTV played in heavy rotation. It had a cinematic flair to it – and it told a story, something that’s lacking in music videos today. (Yes, they still make music videos – go to Vevo.com.)

(Though I have to say that when I was seven years old, the dude dancing around in his underwear with a flaming baton in that video freaked me out a little bit. One of the funniest passages in the book “I Want My MTV” is Billy Joel discussing the video.)

But I listen to the song nearly 30 years later and it resonates with me on a different level, living in a Rust Belt city that’s gone through despair and is trying to re-discover its identity.

And I realize why it resonated with my parents, who grew up in western Pennsylvania – “Allentown” isn’t just about a town in eastern Pennsylvania. It’s the story of a town that once thrived on industry, on coal mining and working in the steel mills, in the plants and factories, of immigrants who wanted to provide a good life for their children, but a town that lost its identity with the changing economic and industrial times. Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Buffalo, Toledo, Detroit, Youngstown, Erie – you can say that for just about any Rust Belt city. Especially Detroit – a place that was once vibrant and the hub of American manufacturing, but is now a shell of itself. And I hope that Billy Joel comes in and rocks “Allentown” when he’s at the Palace next month, because somehow that will resonate with Detroit, too.

***

Sidebar: Billy Joel sang one of the best renditions of the Star Spangled Banner in 2007, before the Super Bowl.

I remember watching this and thinking, these guys are playing in the game of their lives – no better way to explain it than when the camera held for a few seconds on Indianapolis Colts center Jeff Saturday and Chicago Bears defensive tackle Tank Johnson.

It’s not Real (World) anymore

The Real World is in its 29th season. It’s 29th season!

It’s one of two television shows that I followed from my teenage years into adulthood – that and “ER.” I cried during the final three hours of “ER,” both the retrospective and the series finale, but I don’t think I’ll be shedding any tears once the latest cycle is over. MTV might think it’s onto something by putting seven strangers picked to live in a house … and bringing their ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends in after thirty days.

Find out what happens when they stop being polite …

Hot tubs, crying, twerking in your nightie with no undies, making out, making up, hitting a roommate with a metal frying pan … and exes having sex. And fights.

This is what the “Real World” franchise has come to?

Watching the season debut made me think of some of the notable moments of the Real World. And not just the notable moments that made the mainstream news:  Stephen slapping Irene as she got in the car to leave the Seattle flat, Ruthie drunk driving and Ruthie getting her stomach pumped in Hawaii, Pedro’s wedding in San Francisco (the first televised civil union), Tami announcing she was pregnant to her housemates during a rock-climbing outing in Los Angeles, and Julie and Kevin’s fight over race relations on a city street in New York – the first, the best season of “The Real World.”

So it got me thinking …

The Real World was so much better when Elka proclaimed that she was a virgin in Boston. And when Kaia and Ruthie made out in Hawaii.

The Real World was so much better when Melissa danced topless at a strip club in New Orleans. For money. And when Karamo told M.J. in Philadelphia that he was gay.

The Real World was so much better when Sarah, Dan and Flora spied on Mike’s shower threesome in Miami.  

Trishelle’s pregnancy scare in Las Vegas – everybody was talking about that. Even the guys on ESPN’s PTI brought up — and that’s when it crossed the threshold.

I had a boyfriend in college who professed that he hated the show and tried to convince me everything that was wrong with The Real World.

This wasn’t something to be angry about – it, strangely, was the gallivanting that we wanted. To live in a co-ed house, to go out to fantastic clubs and parties and on a trip to somewhere warm and exotic, to be able to sit in a room and confess to the world how you really felt about the people who lived with you and the problems you confronted.

But the intrigue wore off. After that, The Real World tumbled downhill. The “formula” continued to be recycled: hot guy, hot girls, thrown together in a fabulous house and given a job and had their lives taped. And it lost its luster.

Still, it’s like a drug. I’m going to keep watching.